Bleach: Police Story
by Rogue Leader 1000
Summary: In the nation of Japan, war, social alienation of foreigners and political instability has caused a rise in violent organized crime and drugs. At the center of this is the town of Karakura and its police. This is their story. Alternate Universe fic
1. Chapter 1: New Meat

_My first story. Huh, well I got this story from my own head, and I was inspired to write it and upload it by the fan fic Karakura Cops by Alex McCullen; however I haven't really read his extensively, so I don't know how it goes from beginning to end, just the basic premise, so I am taking this idea in my own direction. Please, let me know what you think._

**Bleach: Police Story**

Chapter 1: New Meat

The young man walked up the steps to the police station. It was a large, white washed, imposing structure, five stories in height, international style, lacking any other notable feature other than being a large box. While it wasn't pretty, it was functional, and did its job well. The young man walked through the large glass doors into a room filled with people shuffling about, papers in hand. The room was nothing to look at: white walls, tile floor, good lighting. In front of the young man was a single concierge desk with a solemn young woman behind it. The young man noted that she wasn't a bad looker as he walked up to the desk. She was dressed in a formal police uniform of a buttoned up light blue shirt and dark blue suit jacket with a dark blue mini skirt. She was young looking and had long black hair pulled back into a braid, with her hair in front cut into very precise bangs. When she looked up he noticed solemn yet very green eyes looking up at him. She put on a weak smile, and clasped her hands together, stopping whatever she was doing with the papers on her desk. The young man noticed the name tag on her jacket said "Kurotsuchi Nemu" and brought his hand up to his head in a salute.

"Kurosaki Ichigo reporting for duty ma'am!"

The young man was a red head, a fairly rare trait in Japan, and was tall and thin for a Japanese man with his hair cut short and wild. He wore a full dress police uniform identical to the one worn by the girl with the exception that he wore slacks instead of a skirt of course. He had a look on his face of a stern young man ready to take orders, but, his eyes said the opposite…

"Well, you don't report me," Nemu responded quietly. "Chief Superintendent Yamamoto has been waiting for you. He is on the third floor, room 312. Go in and remember to be polite."

The girl pointed to a hall on the right, stating that the stair case was at the end. The young man walked down the hallway, being sure to take a good look around. Though most of the doors he passed by were closed, some were open; inside, he could many officers, their uniforms ruffled and worn, working at desks, running around the large offices. He wondered if he too would be like them, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, constantly working hard at being a desk jockey, seeking the approval of higher ups in order to get a good promotion. He reached the stair case and walked up the six flights to the third floor.

"Come in Mr. Kurosaki."

Ichigo walked in and closed the door behind him, taking a seat in the plush chair seated in front of the neat, hardwood desk in the center of the room. The man who told him to come in was staring out a large window, his back towards Ichigo. He was dressed in what appeared to be a finely tailored suit, and from the back, Ichigo could tell he was completely bald.

"It's been a long time, Mr. Kurosaki."

"Sir," Ichigo replied, puzzled.

"Have you forgotten so soon that your father worked under me, Mr. Kurosaki? I met you many times when you were younger, though you probably don't remember."

The man standing in front of Ichigo finally turned to face him. He was an extraordinarily old looking man, and in fact looked like he should have retired years ago. He leaned on a nice fancy looking cane, and wore many rings on his fingers. He had a beard that hung all the way to his waist, and eye brows that hung all the way to his mouth: all of his facial hair was white. His face and head were filled with wrinkles and he had a noticeable scar on his forehead. His body was very prominent, revealing, despite the suit, just how muscular the old man was.

As he took a seat in the plush looking chair behind the desk, he continued to speak, saying, "Where's my manners? Let me formally introduce myself. I am Chief Superintendent Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni. I am the Director of this prefecture's police forces, and of course your native Karakura Town is under my jurisdiction. The reason I summoned you here personally is not just because of your father, but because you have scored so well on all your tests and showed an unusual aptitude in the area of combat."

"So Chief Superintendent…"

"Please, just call me Chief Yamamoto."

"Uh, yes sir. So, Chief Yamamoto, you wanted me for some super special assignment?"

"Yes, but I must test you first of course. Please come in Officer Kuchiki."

A door to Ichigo's right opened and out walked a very beautiful young woman. She had short, black hair, violet colored eyes, a petite figure, an immaculate uniform, complete with black boots and a blue soft round boiler hat, and a sturdy composure. Her gaze was stern and unwavering, and she oozed confidence. She stared Ichigo in the face, clasped her boots together, saluted, and stated "Police Officer Kuchiki Rukia at your service, sir!"

"This, Mr. Kurosaki, is another fine officer we have here, and one of your new partners."

"New partners, sir!"

"Yes Mr. Kurosaki, or should I say, Officer Kurosaki. From this point forward, you are an officer attached to our Community Safety Bureau and will be given a koban in a business area in East Karakura. Rukia is one of your new partners. I know you both won't disappoint me."

Ichigo followed behind the young female officer. She walked sternly, and with immense pride, never faltering. He didn't speak to her as they walked through the building, nor as they exited the building to the rear parking lot. In fact, in the parking lot, it was Rukia who spoke to him first.

"I see you don't talk much," she says

"It's nothing like that at all. I was just, well…"

"Admiring my ass."

Ichigo blushed and turned away, realizing that he had been staring as her rear-end the entire time he'd been following her.

"No actually. I was admiring something though."

"And that is…"

"…the way you carry yourself."

Rukia smirked to herself and said, "Don't get it twisted: much of that was just a show for the old man. Truthfully, the honor in the police force has pretty much disappeared ever since the economic collapse and it got worse with world wars and the new Ultranationalist regime. There is very little respect left in this outfit anymore, though the officers like to keep up appearances. How the hell do you think a kid like you, who hasn't even graduated from high school yet, could get in, huh? It's because we are actively searching for idiots like you to fill the ranks, since what few able bodied men we have that are actually worth anything are currently deployed in the military. So Officer Kurosaki, what does bring you here to this little dead end job?"

"Humph! I'm here because my father was a respected officer, well, at least until mom died. He gave up after that."

"How did your mother die?"

Ichigo looked at her sideways for a minute.

"I don't mean to pry Ichigo, but I want to have a good idea about the mental state of the person I'm working with."

Ichigo stopped walking. Rukia did the same and turned around to see him looking towards the pavement.

"My mom, died, no, was killed, by that serial killer. You know, the famous one from a while back."

"Grand Fisher?"

"Yes, him. My dad couldn't get over the fact that his wife died on his watch. He left the force shortly afterward. I was...there when Fisher…"

Ichigo closed his fist and clenched his teeth. He was startled when Rukia reached out and grabbed his hands. He looked up and into warm feeling eyes. The stern, no nonsense feeling was gone. In one second, Rukia had become a warmer, sisterly figure. It shocked Ichigo into silence.

"It's okay. Say no more. I understand. Welcome to the team Ichigo. Come, my car is this way."

She let out a wide smile, then let go of his hands and walked away. Ichigo followed, once again silent. The girl led him to a car, a Nissan Skyline R34 GTR. It was in traditional Japan police colors with all the sirens and other bells and whistles common to police vehicles. She motioned him to get in and he did so, followed by her. He noticed how nice it smelled inside. He also noticed a small bunny head shaped air freshener hung from her rearview mirror.

"Put on your seatbelt," Rukia says as she turns the car on and shifts it into gear. Ichigo did so: just in time too, because he was pulled back in his seat as Rukia hit the gas and sped out of the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2: For Survival

_Dang, second chapter already! Well, in any case, don't expect me to upload as quickly from now on. This chapter is relatively long, but I found it necessary to set up events for the future. Please review!_

**Chapter 2: For Survival**

He sipped tea like a happy old man. And he was, too. The man who sat down in this extremely comfortable chair, in this large, spacious library, with this huge window, was one of the most powerful men in Karakura Town. Nobody knew his real name, but everyone knew what he called himself: Baraggan Luisenbarn. He, like many who lived in this area of Karakura, was a _gaijin_, a foreigner. Judging by his western ethnicity, he was one of the "welcomed foreigners", one of those who came after the Collapse to help offset the nation's dwindling population. It didn't matter now, anyway; whether he was initially welcomed or unwelcomed, he was unwelcomed now. Baraggan was a stern looking old man, with white hair, white beard, and white eye brows. Scars covered his whole muscular body, but one particularly nasty one covered his right eye, which had apparently been rendered useless. He wore a nice suit to go along with his nice house, and sipped expensive tea to go along with his expensive shoes. You see, Baraggan was unusual amongst immigrants. While most immigrants lived in poverty and squalor, he lived in relative comfort and security. That was because he was a leader of the "Immigrant Mafia", what the Japanese called "Gaikoku-jin no gyangu" or "foreigner gangs". In this country, it was the only way a foreigner could make decent money without joining the military and fighting in the wars, and for those who became important leaders, it proved very lucrative. Baraggan continued to sip his expensive tea, when one of his men came in. He was a tall slender young man with long blonde hair that came to the middle of his back; he had a chiseled, handsome face, alluring eyes, and wore picture perfect morning dress. He stood straight and at attention and said, "Sir, there is a Koga Gō here to see you."

Baraggan put down his tea and said, "Yes, send him in Carias."

"Yes sir, right away."

The blonde young man walked out of the room, and in came another man. This man was tall, no, not just tall, but immense. He was impressively muscular, further accentuated by his green muscle shirt. He dressed simply, wearing jeans and hiking boots with his shirt, and having a pair of large cordless head phones around his neck. He was a brunette, but a small, slender patch of his hair in the middle grew longer than the rest into a Mohawk and was died orange. Though he had said that his name was Koga Gō, he clearly was not Japanese, what with his dark skin, and non-Japanese human features, he was obviously of some "brown" ethnic group, but exactly what you couldn't tell by looking. He looked at Baraggan undaunted, though the old man simply stared back and said, "Well, what do you want."

"The shipment you ordered has arrived. You can send your men to pick it up tonight at 11:00. That is when they bring the money," the big man said.

"Ah yes, I will be sure to do that. Give my thanks to Kariya."

"Sure thing." Go turned to walk out when he looked to his left and stopped. He was staring at a painting on the wall.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Koga?" Baraggan had put his tea down and put his hands together.

"This painting is a Monet, a real Monet."

"Yes, yes it is."

"These can go for millions."

"Well, I did pay a hefty dollar for them."

Go turned to face the old man and said, "Does it ever bother you that you live this life of luxury while so many of your fellow immigrants can't even put food on the table?"

"Heh, why should I care? If I can make it, they can make it too! If they don't, it's their own damn fault."

The old man didn't flinch one iota. Go looked at him hard for a while, then said, "Thank you for your time sir", and walked out.

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Such an impatient woman she is! She looked at that door as if anticipating that God himself would walk through. _What is taking so damn long_, she thought. The young woman had Asian features, long dark hair dyed teal and a beautiful face, mired by the fact that she always wore it in a frown, well, most of the time at least. She wore a traditional Chinese qipao, beige pants, and Chinese shoes, though whether or not she was, or wasn't, Chinese was uncertain. Even her real name was a mystery, but when anyone asked her for it, she always gave the same answer, "Yoshi". She perked her head up when she saw a large dark skinned man leave the large mansion she was parked in front of. He walked up to the car and let himself in.

"What the hell kept you," Yoshi yelled.

Gō Koga, not even looking at her, answered, "Nothing, let's just go."

Yoshi grunted, put the car in gear and pulled off. As she did so, Go pulled out a cellphone and dialed a number. After holding it up to his ear for a while, he spoke, saying, "Yeah, it's Claude. He got the message. You sure you want to make this deal? Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand. Ok. Bye."

Go put down his phone and sighed. _I need a new job_, he thought.

"I don't know about this, Yukio."

"Just relax. It's simple. You go in, show him the product, then leave. It will only take a few minutes Chad."

The taller man looked out the window towards the bar. The bar itself was in a back alley, away from the main road. The taller man turned towards his compatriot in the car, a much smaller Japanese looking man with spiky hair and wearing a black cap and extremely dark clothing.

"This doesn't feel right," the taller man says, turned towards his partner.

"Listen, we've done this dozens of times, so there is no reason to all of a sudden grow cold feet," his shorter friend replies.

The taller man had darker skin, which was in fact quite brown. His hair had some length to it: it came down to his shoulders, and was wavy and brown. He had a pronounced square chin, and a thin face. He was muscular, and wore a simple shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. He didn't look Japanese at all, but he was, in fact, half Japanese.

"I just don't know if we should be doing this in the mafia's territory," the big guy replied

"Look Chad: you know we need the money right? This is for survival, not just for the sake of doing it. This is the only guy we know who will handle this score right now, so we have to take the risk. Just remember, in and out."

The big guy, Chad, sat there silently for a few minutes more, not looking at his smaller partner, Yukio, and then he grabbed a backpack, finally opened the door to the car and got out. As he closed the door back, he looked both ways down the street to make sure nobody was on the road, and nobody was. He then ran across the street to the back alley. The alley itself was dark and narrow. It was a pedestrian pathway between large buildings, but there were few pedestrians. He walked down the alleyway till he came to an unusually large wooden door: above the door was the sign "Golden Eagle Bar". He opened the door and walked inside.

The bar was actually western style, with western seats, booths, tables, and counter. There was no one in the bar itself, except for the bartender who was polishing a glass in that stereotypical way bartenders do. Chad stood there, at the door, just watching the bartender. The bartender, without so much as stopping what he was doing or even acknowledging Chad's presence said, in American English, "Did you bring it?"

"Yes," Chad replied, also in English, but with a heavy Latino accent.

"Well, follow me," the bartender replied.

Chad followed the bartender to the back room: it was a simple office, with a door on the other side of it and a desk and chair in the middle. On the walls were pictures of the bartender with various friends, and there numerous filing cabinets round about the room. Chad closed the door behind himself and the bartender sat in the chair in the office.

"Well, show me," the bartender says.

Chad opens his backpack and removes a single vial. In this vial was a dark red, almost blood looking liquid. Chad held it up so that the bartender could get a good look at it.

"Show me it works."

Chad paused a bit, and then opened another patch in his backpack. He removed a small device with a needle and a trigger with a grip. Chad shook the vile and attached the end to the strange device. The mixture began to bubble for a second, and when it stopped, Chad put the device up to his neck, with the needle facing towards him. He pulled the trigger and the needle pieced his skin. The red liquid drained out of the vial and into his body. When it was finished, he put the device back in his backpack. He stood there for a second, and then he leaned on the desk. He began to change: his breathing became deep and shallow. He started shaking uncontrollably, his whole body convulsing madly. His mouth was going a mile a minute as if saying something, but he said nothing. His eyes grew wide, his muscles tightened, his hand clenched and suddenly he reared back and fell to his knees. He just stared at the ceiling, mouth wide open as if being forced open. He suddenly slumped, breathing heavily, resting his body on his large, pulsing arms. He was breathing deep and heavy now, and had stopped shaking. He began to chuckle under his breath and then spoke, a deep, Hispanic voice, somewhat raspy, but filled with a kind of malicious intent he lacked before.

"Are you satisfied, señor?"

"Not yet," the bartender replied, "let me see your face."

Chad looked up at the bartender and let him see his blood shot, intense eyes. A slasher's smile was plastered across Chad's face.

"Yes, now I am satisfied."

Yukio sat in the vehicle, peeling a banana. He was used to this kind of thing. He understood his friend Sado "Chad" Yasutora's misgivings about the situation, but they really had no choice. Their clients were switching over to the Baraggan faction of the Immigrant Mafia. Originally, Baraggan wouldn't touch their drug, "Fullbring", now the two groups are on the verge of a gang war. Yukio took a bite out of his banana, being sure to keep a low profile. Then he noticed something: several men, westerners judging from appearances, began walking into the alleyway from the street. They were dressed in normal street clothes, but the way they carried themselves gave them away as gangsters.

"Damn."

Yukio reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone. He pressed a single button and put the phone up to his ear.

Chad's phone began to ring. The bartender was counting out the money to be paid for the Fullbring on the desk.

"Excuse me," Chad says, taking out his cell phone.

The seven foot tall behemoth, which he was, now that he was under the influence of Fullbring, turned away from the bartender and answered his phone.

"Chad, its Yukio! Get the hell out of there now! Baraggan's guys will come busting up in there any minute!"

Chad immediately puts down his phone and yelled out to the bartender, "Get down!" Just then someone burst through the rear door and there was a loud bang. The bartender's head exploded even as he was getting ready to count another bill. Brain matter and skull covered the far wall as the shotgun wielding assailant began to turn his weapon on Chad. But to Chad, under the influence of Fullbring, the man was moving impossibly slow; Chad immediately began to move, even before the man had begun to turn towards him.

You see, Fullbring, the U.S. military codename for the drug, is a stimulant. In fact, it is the most powerful stimulant known to man. All of a person's senses, heightened to almost superhuman levels, while their body begins to increase production of such chemicals as adrenaline and dopamine, damaging the parts of the body that produce these chemicals. Chad's brain was taking in and handling sensory information more than twice as fast as normal.

He immediately charged the man, and in seconds was staring him in the face. The gunman couldn't even react as Chad grabbed his face with his left hand and his gun with his right. Stuck in Chad's grip he let go of his weapon and grabbed Chad's arm, struggling in vain to break free. Chad could hear more guys come busting through the front door. He picked up the poor foul in his hand, holding him a full foot off the ground. He fixed the shotgun so he was holding it correctly then turned to face the door he originally entered through. A smile crossed his face as he kicked the door down. As soon as he did, dozens of bullets peppered the body of the man he was holding. Chad dropped the body of the man and dove behind the bar counter as bullets tore into the wood. Chad looked up as a man ran around the counter to get a shot off, and immediately shot the man in the chest, literally causing it to explode. He then ran to the other end of the counter, and waited for the gunfire to die down. These guys were obviously not professionals as they all ran out of ammo at the same time. Chad moved immediately from behind the counter: he fired immediately on the first man he saw dropping him instantly. He then noticed immediately that another man was loading another shotgun and shot him without skipping a beat. He tried to shoot a third assailant but his shotgun was out of ammo. He threw down the empty shotgun, balled up his fist and charged. The third gunman managed to reload but just as he brought his weapon to bear, he was dropped by a well placed punch to his kidney and taken out by two fingers pushed deep into his eyes sockets. The fourth and final would-be killer had actually reloaded his weapon and trained it on Chad. Chad noticed and moved instantly. The attacker fired, and Chad dropped down into a boxing stance and danced lightly to the side, missing the bullet altogether. The man tried to fire again and once again Chad moved out of the way, but this time also lurched forward. The man panicked and simply began firing madly, while Chad simply danced around like a boxer avoiding blows. He continued to move forward until he got right on top of the man, who screamed and turned to run: Chad jumped and mauled him. The man's screams were quickly beaten out of him, forever. Chad stood over his kill, covered in blood, breathing heavily. Just then he heard a gunshot and turned around to see a man hit the ground. Suddenly Yukio came running through the door, gun in hand.

"What are you waiting for? Grab the money and our drugs and let's get the heck out of here!"

Chad wasted no more time; he grabbed all the money the man had on his desk and in his still open safe and grabbed all the drugs, both what he was going to give the man and what he still had in his bag. Within two minutes Chad and Yukio were back in the car and long gone.


End file.
